


A Steward's Duties

by JollyRogue



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Daddy Kink, He's just fantasizing, Jopson has a FILTHY mind, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyRogue/pseuds/JollyRogue
Summary: Jopson indulges in some very secret, very dirty daydreams.





	1. Fantasy I

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering - I firmly believe that Crozier could *never* hurt his darling Jopson! This story is all about the depraved depths of Jopson's imagination, hence the trigger warning. Ship ahoy! :D

Some things simply don't work in reality. And although Thomas Jopson and Francis Crozier have shared much as friends, there are things you just cannot tell even a close friend. For the captain, Jopson is a well-mannered gentleman servant, he's _always_ been a gentleman, and there is absolutely no reason to make anyone think otherwise of him.

 

No, Jopson cannot tell anyone about _that_ fantasy, ever.

 

It is one of these rare Sunday afternoons when he has the stewards' cabin all to himself. The diffuse light of a fading Arctic September day shines through Preston's Patent Illuminator in the ceiling, giving Jopson on his bunk bed just enough light to discern his own hands in front of him.

He takes naps – or rather pretends to nap – rarely; usually there's too much work to be done for such a luxury, but today is such an occasion.

 

And that's when he imagines what he'd have the captain do to him.

 

Jopson lies facedown on the narrow bunk, the striped cotton pillowcase soft on his skin, and fantasizes.

 

.

.

.

 

He's very lucky, in his fantasy just as in reality, to have found this position as a steward with Captain Francis Crozier back in 1839, prior to their voyage to the Antarctic. Times are so uncertain nowadays especially for half-orphaned young men like him who've never had the opportunity to receive higher education.

 

Now, if perhaps the sailors aboard this ship were not such rude fellows, this job would be perfect. But that's something he can deal with. The glances, the leers, the casual touches, the gropes, the fondles – they harrass him almost daily. His rank as a petty officer matters nothing to them in this twisted fancy of his.

But he isn't like that. He rejects their advances with superior ease, evading greedy hands and wriggling out of pretend-friendly embraces.

Fortunately the captain is a gentleman, unlike these men. Jopson can count on his protection, and the _Terror's_ sailors know it too. They will probably not dare going _all_ the way - and Jopson shudders at the thought with both fear and delight – lowering themselves to unspeakable things. Actually, he hasn't told Crozier anything of that yet. The captain must not think of him as a distraction to his men. Jopson wants to demonstrate that he is perfectly capable of being one of the best petty officers the _Terror_ has ever had.

 

He has just finished sweeping the orlop when Sergeant Tozer, one of the marines, enters.

 

Jopson has rarely been cornered on a ship's deck before, but this is one of these moments, the _Terror_ being quite cramped with her narrow walkways. Tozer is blocking his way, and Jopson immediately watches for a way out, waits for the right moment to escape.

 

"You know, the others in my mess aren't very nice", Tozer says.

 

Jopson stays quiet, nods. What is this guy planning?

 

"I can protect you from them." A lopsided smile distorts his face, and his stare is uncomfortably intense.

 

"I have no idea what you mean." Jopson pretends cluelessness while anticipating the right moment to push the man aside and flee.

 

Tozer's face is on one level with Jopson's, and he takes Jopson's chin in his hand, gentle but possessive. "Don't act like you don't know. You're the handsomest man on board. Gives us all ideas, even though we like only women." His thumb brushes over Jopson's lips. "Such blue eyes, such a pretty mouth. You know how depraved my fellow marines are. It's only a matter of time till they ravish you."

 

"No! Leave me!" Jopson tries to jump past Tozer, toward the door, but the sergeant catches him in the last second, his arm around Jopson's waist.

 

"I'll treat you well, I'm not like them!"

 

Jopson's elbow hits Tozer's side full force.

 

" _Owww!_ "

 

The marine lets go of him, and Jopson runs.

On the mess deck, he pauses, wiping sweat from his brow. Perhaps he should indeed complain to the captain, he ponders. But what can Crozier realistically do? Will he even believe Jopson if he hasn't seen this incident – and any of the others – occur? Is it even worth telling? They have not hurt him in any way – not physically.

 

Not yet.

 

Only half an hour later another sailor approaches Jopson, telling him that Captain Crozier wants to talk to him.What can this possibly be about?

The moment he enters the captain's great cabin he knows.

 

There Solomon Tozer is, and the captain is standing next to him, and they look at him with an accusing expression on their faces.

Jopson breathes in deeply, assuming the worst. What on earth has this degenerate told Crozier about him?

 

The door slides shut, and Jopson waits.

 

"All right, lad", the captain says. "This man says you've refused to service him."

 

"There's a misunderstanding", Jopson says. "He... he made an inappropiate advance toward me, sir."

 

Crozier tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow. "And you refused?"

"Why, yes, of course, sir!"

 

There is a short pause. Tozer looks at Crozier as if to say, _see? See?_

 

Crozier sighs. "Come here", he orders, waving Jopson closer, and the latter doesn't even think of questioning the order – it's the way Crozier gives it, commanding as if he's done it all his life, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and like everyone else Jopson unconsciously picks up on this and obeys without thinking.

 

He stands before Crozier, so close that their feet almost touch.

 

"It looks like you haven't yet grasped the full scope of your responsibilities, Jopson."

 

Jopson stares at him. These words are the last he has expected. "Excuse me?"

 

Crozier steps forward, pushing one thigh between Jopson's legs with controlled force, and the only thing that prevents Jopson from stumbling backward are Crozier's hands squeezing his bottom, rough hands almost big enough to enclose each of his buttocks, and he gasps.

 

"C-Captain–!"

 

.

.

.

 

"Captain", Jopson mumbles, pushing his lower body against the mattress of his tiny bunk bed. "Ohh." The pressure is delicious, and he struggles to resist the urge to rut his lower body on the bed.

Not yet. He has to wait it out, wait till the scenario is fully on.

His fingers grasp the sheet, and he sighs, his hot breath moistening the linen.

 

.

.

.

 

 

Immediately his instincts drive Jopson to fight, but Crozier grabs his silky black hair, jerking Jopson's head back.

 

He looks at Crozier incredulously. His heart is pounding hard in his chest and his legs tremble.

 

"You're supposed to do as you're told. Open your mouth."

 

"Captain" Jopson protests, "I- I'm not like that! I can't-!"

 

His words are swiftly cut off by the sudden vigor of Crozier's mouth on his, and the captain invades him with a rough wet tongue, tasting of whiskey and tobacco.

Jopson whimpers, unable to back off – Crozier's hand is holding the back of his head, forcing this kiss upon him and pillaging his mouth.

 

But the surprise soon wears off. Jopson's rigid body gradually relaxes and he thinks, _this doesn't feel too bad, maybe the captain will do just this and won't go further –_

 

– but then Crozier's lips wander down to Jopson's neck, tickling the sensitive skin between the steward's neck and shoulder, and then he bites him.

 

"Ah", Jopson cries out. Now he's breathing hard and shallow, feels Crozier's calloused hands slide up his shirt, and then the captain whispers, "You _are_ like that, and I will show you."

 

Jopson realizes how wrong he was. Nothing is sacred any more. The insight makes him want to surrender and turn his head away, eyes and mouth tightly closed as these scoundrels have their way with him, but he's always been a fighter.

"No", he shouts, starting to struggle once more. He pushes against the other man's chest. "No, don't!"

 

Crozier's response is to grab him, one strong arm around Jopson's waist, and he covers Jopson's mouth with his other hand. "Shut up", he growls, and pushes him towards the table.

 

For a second or two the room spins, then Jopson is bent facedown on the big wooden cabin table. He looks up, behind him, to see the captain standing there, ordering Tozer to hold Jopson's arms while he removes Jopson's trousers. They slide down, exposing his smooth thighs, and cool air brushes over his naked bottom.

The steward's squirms and kicks are answered with a hard smack on his backside. "Stay still", Crozier orders. "It's going to happen either way, you might as well cooperate."

 

Right. Jopson is breathing shallowly, his face feels damp with fear. "Captain", he pleads, "be gentle, please."

 

In this fantasy he's never done it before, and Crozier is going to forcefully break him in. _Oh God, this is going to hurt._

 

"If you're good, lad." Crozier's hands roam over Jopson's chest under the shirt, and caress his thighs, then he orders Tozer to let go of Jopson's wrists.

 

"All right, I changed my mind. Kneel down."

 

 _What?!_ Jopson is surprised. Does he intend to –?

 

But he has no time to ponder the possibilities, for Crozier sits down on the chair, unbuttoning his trousers. Jopson feels himself suddenly manhandled as Tozer forces him to kneel there, in front of the captain, so he has a full view of Crozier's crotch. The captain's trousers are already bulging with the hard and ready erection contained within, and when he reveals it Jopson stares. It protrudes forth and points at him, deep red and demanding.

 

Crozier latches onto his massive girth with a strong hand as if handling a precious treasure, stroking and polishing it. "Suck it, lad. Come on."

 

Dutifully Jopson shuffles closer on his knees, puts his hands on Crozier's thighs but sets on to speak, "But – I've never – "

 

Crozier responds by grabbing his hair and directing his cock at Jopson's mouth, forcing it inside, and choking Jopson's surprised whimper.

 

Tears fill Jopson's eyes, and at the same time, a slight delectable tremor runs down his spine. He's on his knees, his own lower body bare, and tries to keep his mouth wide open.

 

It is no use resisting the peculiar sensation – he is getting aroused himself. Warmth radiates from his groin and he knows Crozier will notice. The thought makes him anxious, and he knows it's just a matter of time until the Captain or the marine will see how hard his erection is, how is body is betraying him by demanding such depraved things against his will.

 

_Why does it feel so good? I didn't want this!_

 

He manages to take in half of Crozier's length, feeling it swell and pulse on his tongue. It's hot and oozing pre-cum, making it easier to move his mouth along it forth and back.

Crozier caresses Jopson's hair. "Ah, this is good. Keep going, lad."

 

Soon he decides it's enough, and orders Jopson to stand up and turn around. "Show me that fine arse of yours."

Jopson obeys, not daring to look at the Captain for fear that his shameful desire is written all over his face. Again, he leans over the table, supporting himself on his elbows.

 

Rough hands pat and squeeze his buttocks. Crozier reaches one hand forward around him, pushing two digits between Jopson's lips, ordering him to get those fingers wet. Jopson works up more saliva, getting them thoroughly moist, because he has a suspicion where these fingers will end up.

 

Indeed, Crozier removes them only to re-enter a digit from behind.

 

"Ahh!" Jopson gasps, and his body tenses. He can't suppress a whimper; never before has anything been inserted in his rear. It feels as if he has to expel that foreign object but it slides in deeper. There is no pain, not yet, but it feels extraordinarily strange.

 

"Get used to it, you dirty wench. There's gonna be more."

 

"Yes", Jopson mutters into the polished wooden surface, having surrendered all control but still too abashed to look at the older man. His own manhood is rigid, and that humiliates him even more. He tries to relax for what is to come.

 

_Oh my God, he's going to violate me and it excites me...!_

 

The table creaks as Crozier positions himself behind him, and he pushes his hard tip against Jopson's entrance.

The battering ram takes a few attempts to break him in. Jopson whimpers and squirms, but when Crozier slaps his bottom he stays still, trembling. The Captain eases his pulsating cock slowly into him, grunting, and Jopson feels his arse open further.

 

Jopson cries out – it hurts, it's too uncomfortable, he can't take that big cock. Tears well up in his eyes and he whimpers, biting down on his hand. He doesn't want to make more sounds, his own shame is already enough – even more so because the mere idea of being filled like this excites him, and the guilt over such feelings only adds to his forbidden want. Since when has he been such a lustful whore?

 

Crozier moves slowly until he is fully balls-deep up inside him, and Jopson feels the burn spreading. At the same time he tries to calm down, breathe more easily. He needs to get used to it. He will.

 

"You like it?" Crozier growls.

 

"No", Jopson whines. _Yes. Yes!_

 

To his amazement, he feels a strange spot deep inside him sending shivers throughout his nerves, and his body shakes with unwanted pleasure.

It tingles inside him, and he tries to struggle against this peculiar sensation.

 

_Ohh, this is so good, I want this, I want more of this._

 

"Hold still!" Crozier orders, pushing his palm between Jopson's shoulder blades, forcing his head to stay on the table. "You'll get more soon enough, whore."

 

Tozer is still there, watching, visibly amused. "That floozy sure needs a hard cock up his arse, don't he, sir!?"

 

Jopson's whole body rocks back and forth as Crozier ravages him, and the great cabin is filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping onto skin and the captain's grunts. It still hurts but Jopson is getting used to it – with each thrust, he's stretched and primed further.

 

"Tell me you like it", Crozier commands.

 

Jopson clings to the last shred of pride he can muster, and shakes his head. "No, no!" How can he admit to enjoying the degrading act of another man mounting him? It is animal, debased. But his body speaks for itself; he is hot and excited, clearly erect, and responding to Crozier's rutting with involuntary moans.

 

"Say it!" Crozier hits home with a rough thrust, simultaneously slapping his bottom.

 

"Yes," Jopson wails, trying to hide his face against the table, "yes, sir!"

 

"The whole sentence!"

 

"I li-like it", Jopson stutters, and can't suppress the bare truth spilling out of him. "I need it, need you to fuck me, sir."

 

"I don't hear you begging for it!"  
  
"Please, fuck me" Jopson moans. "Fuck me, captain, please, fuck me hard, I need it..." His voice trails off into ragged breathing. It is both painful and blissful, this unique stroking of sensitive parts deep inside him he has had no idea about. It seems so good and right to simply give himself to the other man's needs. He's the captain's whore to be used and passed around whenever the captain pleases.

 

Crozier grunts, thrusting hard into Jopson.

 

The twitching in his legs, his tensing hands around Jopson's sides, it sends another shudder of excitement through Jopson's body.

The captain comes instantly, pumping several jets of pent-up cum deep inside Jopson's aching insides, soaking him with his warm seed.

 

"Ohh", Jopson groans. The sensation of being marked is almost enough to send him over the edge. His face is hot and damp with sweat, and he realizes the men were right: he is a whore and he needs this, even if he hasn't known it before. He needs them to pin him down and take him, sticking their hard cocks into him. The urge is new but at the same time much older than him.

Jopson looks at Tozer, gazing back into those hungry eyes as Crozier pulls out of him.

 

.

.

.

 

Jopson lies on the bed, breathing hard, and it's no surprise – _I've exercised my imagination quite hard!_ Exercised. _Hehe._ He's still holding his softening cock, and his own cum covers his stomach just like in his mind's images – one spurt has even reached his shirt although he's pulled it all the way up to his clavicle.

 

He closes his eyes and wonders how the scenario might continue from here.

 

Maybe the captain will decide that he'll be Jopson's only man, much to the disappointment of Tozer and the crew, of which some even dare to imply that the captain alone could not possibly satisfy that ravenous vixen of a steward.

But Crozier makes sure that Jopson has no time to think about them at all. Soon Jopson learns to be ready every time Crozier wants him, always opening his legs and mouth willingly for his captain.

 

He lies on the bunk and fans himself.

A knock on the door startles him out of his perverted reveries.

 

"Jopson?" It's Crozier deep voice from outside. "Goddamn it, have you fallen asleep in there? The laundry is waiting!"


	2. Fantasy II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shouldn't have to say this, but if anything in the warning or tags of this story is not your cup of tea, STOP reading NOW.

 

Doing the laundry is not Jopson's favorite work.

It is a lonely task, unlike taking care of his master directly, and unreasonably difficult here in the Arctic, where fresh water is harder to obtain – melting ice uses valuable fuel – so he has less water available than such a laundry load usually calls for, and it clouds very quickly.

He grates the soap into the half-filled wooden tub, and throws the linens into the scant water – his captain's shirts, socks, and drawers. They have been pre-soaked at Fraser's Patent Galley Stove and are still sopping wet, so right now Jopson does not have an opportunity to do what in his fantasy he would now do.

It would have to be a shirt. The shirts cover most of Crozier's body, directly on the skin. Nothing could be better suited.

  
  


*

  
  


In his imagination, Jopson sneaks away with the unwashed shirt, before it has a chance to get soaked, into his cabin, and pressing it to his face he inhales the unmistakable scent of his captain as his own hand glides into his trousers. The thrill of the forbidden only adds to his excitement.

He lies on his bunk, starting to stroke himself slowly, as he thinks about what Captain Crozier might do to him. Jopson is, after all, a rather handsome young man with a well-built figure and a pretty face with bright blue-green eyes and long lashes, and he tries his damn best to let his captain know how much he loves to serve him. Shouldn't Crozier soon be tempted to ask more of him; to use him for more basic needs which surely he must have, too?

How often has he dreamed of himself and the captain sharing those sheets (nevermind that the bunk bed would be too narrow for any such thing in reality), heated naked bodies pressed onto each other, and making love, sweet love, until the morning hours. Why does the most sinful desire have to be the most alluring?

If only the captain would just do it to him. Then Jopson would not share any responsibility. He could just let it happen, without guilt and repercussions for his conscience. If Crozier lost control, and simply forced him –

_"Captain, what are you doing-" Jopson gasps, trapped under the older man's weight. Crozier is pressing him down into the mattress, pushing Jopson's naked thighs open. There is no escape. Jopson fights back, the only way he can retain a semblance of virtue for his conscience's sake, but readily lets the captain hold his wrists down, kiss and bite his neck. He surrenders; and when he feels the man's hardness pushing against his entrance Jopson's body relaxes, wanting and ready._

The fantasy makes him desperate, and he strokes himself faster, thinking of Crozier the gentleman – if only,  _if only_ he would forget himself just once and take what he needed from his willing steward, Jopson would have a memory that he could savour – 

  
  


“My goodness”, a shocked voice exclaims.

  
  


Abruptly, Jopson falls out of his reveries, and almost out of the bunk, too. Shirt pressed to his face, erection in hand, he sees him standing at the door open-mouthed: Lieutenant Irving, an expression of complete disbelief on his face, has opened the door and stands there, just stands there –

“Oh shit”, Jopson mutters.

  
  


  
  


*

  
  


  
  


“He has _defiled_ himself. Using this.”

  
  


Lieutenant Irving, confronting Crozier with a mortified Jopson at his side, hands Captain Crozier the shirt; it's quite clear that it is the captain's shirt with the initials stitched into it, and he touches it only with two fingertips at a corner as if it were something dirty.

Crozier takes the shirt, looks at it for a moment as if seeing it for the first time, then he looks back at Irving, and finally, at Jopson. His expression is one of utter incredulity.

“Jopson, is this true?”

  
  


Jopson is on the verge of tears. Never before in his life has he been so thoroughly humiliated. This will be the end of his career, he is certain – Crozier won't be able to look him in the eyes ever again, he will think of him as a queer-minded, foul criminal; this shameful deed now defining him forever. Why, oh why did he have to do this? Or more precisely, why did Irving have to burst into his cabin at just that moment? Perhaps there is such a thing as divine interception – yes, that must be it, he has offended God the Creator by allowing his filthy thoughts about Captain Crozier to run their course …

  
  


He nods. There is no point in lying, Irving has seen everything clearly. “Yes, sir.”

  
  


*

  
  


In the scenario Jopson awaits his inevitable punishment. They have bound his wrists together on his back and moved him out of Captain Crozier's sight, in a storeroom on the orlop deck, until the captain has made a decision. He sits there with his back leaning against a box, waiting, wondering – will there be a public disciplining? But then, perhaps his offense is too much of an embarrassment to the captain, so that he may decide on something else. But what? His desperation has waned, given room to a more practical thinking, even defiance – what crime  _has_ he committed, really? Everyone touches himself on this ship! The only difference in his case is that he has been abusing Crozier's shirt, a misdeed though as it may be, it would have been something Crozier would  _never_ have needed to know, if it were not for this intruding Irving, damn his eyes!

  
  


He hears someone climbing down the ladderway, approaching him.  _ Finally!  _ It's a sailor. "Mr Crozier will see you now.”

  
  


Jopson obeys, his stomach almost jumping with excitement. This will be the climax of his fantasy. Hands still bound on his back he's being led to the captain's cabin, where he meets Crozier and the sailor leaves them alone.

  
  


Crozier's expression is hard to read. But at least he is looking at Jopson straight on, without any discomfort. Jopson swallows anxiously. What has his captain decided to do with him? Most importantly, will he still want to retain him in the position of a steward, even knowing about his shameful desires and this one unfortunate slip-up?

He looks at Crozier with what he hopes may be a pleading, innocent look in his eyes and breathes a little deeper, biting his lower lip, quickly glancing up at Crozier, only to look away.

"I must say, I'm quite surprised." The captain crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. Then he says, lowering his tone, "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr Jopson?”

Now Jopson looks at him with the most earnest, serious expression he can muster. "I … I'm very sorry, sir. I behaved most inappropiately. I'm sorry.”

Crozier raises an eyebrow – but, as Jopson notes, he does not seem angry at all. “So, do you usually think about your captain when you frig yourself, Jopson?”

Jopson pauses, not sure how to read him, how to understand that unexpected question. He decides to be honest. He could never lie, has never before lied to Crozier anyway. “Yes, sir. It really is as you think. I'm a deviant, imagining … inappropiate things about you. And I'm very sorry, I will make sure that …”

Crozier steps closer, watching him closely, until he is so close that Jopson can see the glint in his eyes. Unable to read that expression, he trails off, searching Crozier's face, anxiously.

“Yes?” Ever so gently, Crozier touches the side of Jopson's face, his thumb trailing the younger man's jaw, his half-open mouth. 

“I …” Jopson stutters, “I will make sure … that …” He holds his breath, shocked and stirred at the new sensation of the captain caressing his cheeks, his lips, so unexpected and sensual. 

“Do speak, Mr Jopson.”

“... that I'll never … defile you again, sir.” Jopson is now whispering, as if a wrong word could make that warm hand disappear, break the bond of their eyes. “I'll gladly submit to … any punishment you see fit.”

But … this does not make sense. Is Captain Crozier here to scold, to punish him? The captain's expression and hands speak a different language. He brushes a thumb over Jopson's lower lip,  _again_ , before gently pushing it against Jopson's teeth. 

The gesture is delicate, but dominating and unmistakable. Jopson feels his cheeks, his loins, heat up just as before when he touched himself, if not more so, and a delectable shiver runs down his spine. Obediently, he opens his mouth, allowing the captain's finger inside, tasting it on his tongue.

Now he is certain that he has not misread the signals – is this a dream come true? Crozier retracts his thumb only to slide an index finger back in, and Jopson, now more daring, encircles it with his tongue, licking. His arousal is back in full force, straining the fabric of his trousers. When Crozier removes the finger, slowly, leaving a trail of saliva on Jopson's lips, Jopson is desperate for more, but he just stares at his captain, astonished, heart and mind racing, and his cock aching hard.

Crozier must have noticed this, for he grabs the back of Jopson's neck, and pulls him so close that the tips of their noses almost touch. Jopson's heartbeat is pounding.

Crozier pushes his thigh between Jopson's legs, pressing it tightly against the steward's groin, and his left hand reaches around to squeeze his bottom so coarsely it almost hurts. Finally he says, "Is this what you want, lad? _This what you need?_ "

"Yes", Jopson breathes, "yes!" Being at the mercy of his beloved captain who can freely use him any way he wants to? It's the material his fantasies are made of, have been ever since he has entered service on HMS  _Terror_ . 

"Now, then", Crozier's voice is barely audible, "we shall have a new rule on this ship. Whenever you feel the need to abuse my linens – and myself by proxy – you come to me. And … I will take good care of you."

"Yes, Daddy", he whispers.

"Is that understood!?

"Aye, sir!"

Crozier loses no time. He is getting ready and aroused, too, and Jopson feels it poke his belly through their clothes, hard and solid.

Now he pulls Jopson around, into the bedcabin, shoving him facedown onto the bunk.

Jopson inhales, smelling the duvet that's impregnated with the scent of tobacco and sweat, turning his head to the side so he can breathe better. There's the sound buttons opening, the rustling of fabric, and he breathes faster. His heartbeat is resounding wildly in his ears.

He's defenseless, utterly helpless, with his hands still bound on his back. What an intense sensation to surrender all control in this way!

Large, warm hands tug at the hem of his trousers, yanking them down.

Then cool air brushes over his bare bottom, but only for a second or so because Crozier is over him immediately. The bed creaks where his knees press into it on each side of Jopson's hips.

A calloused hand roughly gropes his buttocks, then something very hard, very warm presses between them. Jopson whimpers, feeling his own erection wedged tight between his stomach and the mattress, an irritating and frustrating sensation.

The captain grunts a curse, and Jopson tries to spread his legs a little, to lift his bottom against that huge cock pushing down on him; and he grits his teeth, ready for the impact.

" _ Ah! _ "

He cries out when he feels the breach, the great stretch, so breathtakingly potent, just hovering on the edge of pain. Slowly Crozier pushes inside, groaning, until he's seated all the way inside him. The hard, long weight of his warm erection fills Jopson out completely, making him whimper and moan.

Gradually he relaxes, giving Crozier the chance to thrust and move.

The Captain's precum is providing just a small amount of lubrication but it is enough to ease his movements to Jopson can acutely feel every centimeter sliding inside and out of him. It hits the magic spot deep in his belly, sending warm, tingling shivers through his body like small electrical shocks. He shouts and begs for more,  _ please, Captain, fuck me, Daddy, oh yes, ohh!  _

The force of his thrusts shoves Jopson roughly across the duvet, stimulating his arousal with friction of hardly bearable intensity. It's aching and pulsating against the hot skin of his stomach, so tightly confined between him and the bed.

There are voices outside the cabin. But Jopson barely hears them and is too excited to care. He moans and pleads, his entire body surrendering to the increasing pleasure. Crozier, however, is alarmed. He presses his hand on Jopson's mouth, stifling his sounds; and thrusts faster, causing the bunk to creak lightly.

"Nngh", Jopson utters. The rough, warm hand is muffling his groans, and bound like this he has no choice but to endure the buildup of stimulation, unable to touch himself. Desperately he presses his pelvis against the mattress, aching for release. And just when a burning sensation starts to rise around his too fully stretched, abused entrance he feels the imminent release overpower him. He moans when his body tenses, still being rubbed against the bed with the captain's forceful thrusts, and surrenders to the ultimate explosion of lust. Jopson's seed spills out into the scant space between his stomach and the mattress, and though exhausted and spent, he feels it smear over his hot skin with each of Crozier's movements.

Weary and still heaving breaths he savours the sensation of Crozier coming inside him – the familiar twitch, that telltale sign of spurts of seed jetting into him, then the captain's warm, heavy body sinks down atop his own. He hears the quick, shallow breathing, and closes his eyes.

Quietly he lies there, relaxing and beaming with afterglow, feeling the tired captain's gradually calming breath on the skin of his nape.

The salty smell of sex has intensified, intermingled with the unique, sweaty scent of them both. It's all over him now, sticky and warm on his skin; and oozing out from between his buttocks. He can never get enough of it, being marked and claimed – other men may take advantage of that weakness and use him, but only with Crozier it feels truly right. Only his captain has that kind of hold over him.

And only in his fantasy those things can happen.

  
  


*

  
  


In real life, Jopson throws a curse at the ship's cat as it walks over the freshly laundered linen that lies in a pile waiting to be carried away to be hung to dry; and splashes some water in its general direction. “Shoo! Get out of here, you beast!” His hands are miserably cold, reddened and sore from the scrubbing on the washboard.

The cat does not give a damn.

  
  


THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dangit, Irving, you're such a spoilsport. Why did you have to interfere!? Jopson would certainly have won the Arctic Wanking Champion Gold Medal* if it weren't for you. XD
> 
> * © ImpudentGuttersnipe


End file.
